This year I have decided that September is the perfect month. This may be partly due to the fact that I am not pregnant (read: throwing up) and have finally recovered from a stage 4 tear and subsequent infections and complications. The world really is a better place now that I can successfully walk across my living room without pharmaceutical assistance. Medical accomplishments aside, September is also the prefect month for a host of yearly recurring reasons.
The school supplies go on sale. There is just something magical about a brand new box of crayons, or a set of perfectly sharpened colored pencils. And nothing is quite the same as the pristine paper and unbent corners of a new notebook. My joy and excitement over new school supplies are significantly increased when they cost less than a quarter.
Open window weather. September is the enjoyable combination of fallish summerness. The days are warm and pleasant, but I can bake without my house approaching 90 degrees. The evenings cool off, but are not yet bitterly cold. I pretty much keep my windows open all day and all night. This practice fills my house with a pleasing breeze and the occasional sound of birds.
Sunflowers. I love sunflowers, and in September I see them everywhere. They grow along the side of the road, around parking lots, and in open fields. The ubiquitous growth of these bright and cheerful flowers somehow indicates that all is right in the world. This year is especially nice because I planted my own sunflowers. Now I don't have to go around town to appreciate some bright yellow foliage. I have had fresh flowers on my kitchen table all month and it makes me happy to know that they came from my backyard. I feel quite accomplished even though all I did was put some seeds in the ground and then ignore them for a couple of months. The awesomeness of my homegrown centerpiece is compounded by the fact that I planted two varieties of sunflowers so I have both yellow and orange blooms to enjoy.
The kids in the neighborhood sell pumpkins. It's the fall incarnation of the lemonade stand, and it makes me smile. Although I have never stopped to purchase a cold beverage from a neighborhood child, I am a sucker for a six year old selling pumpkins.
Fresh produce. Not the "fresh" produce from the store, but real fresh produce from our [neighbor's] garden. Despite my inexperience our own garden is doing quite well. We successfully grew everything required for homemade salsa. This accomplishment made up for the rather disappointing crop failure of our green bean experiment. I've also quite enjoyed eating corn on the cob minutes after it has been harvested. And our rather large and aggressive squash plant that is trying to take over the entire yard has finally set some squash. I am hoping it reaches maturity before the first freeze.
This year's September is especially perfect because I purchased some Nutella. I don't know why I have never done this before. It's chocolaty nuttiness has dramatically increased my enjoyment of life.
25 September 2011
14 September 2011
The Secrets of the Fire Swamp
We recently visited Texas because summer is the best time to visit the land of triple digit temperatures and record setting humidity. We used the same excellent decision making skills to determine that we should make the cross country trip in our car.
The Texan did most of the driving, and I did most of the entertaining the child in the back seat. However, one night an errand involving diapers found me behind the wheel. Driving in Texas is unlike any other place I have ever driven. When I first moved there, I was absolutely convinced that Texas traffic would be the cause of my final demise. I was particularly offended that I had to merge to get both on and off the freeway. My roommates and I referred to mastering navigation on Texas roadways as learning the secrets of the fire swamp. At a fairly recent point in my life I reasonably proficient in the secrets of the fire swamp. However, my current stint in farm town Idaho has quickly eroded my Texas driving skills.
I briefly coveted my infants five point harness and wondered if I should locate a helmet before facing the extreme peril ahead of me. I buckled my seatbelt, turned on the GPS, and set off on my diaper finding quest. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to recall the rules of Texas driving.
1. He who hesitates will never ever ever get on the freeway. Assertiveness is required. Unfortunately, the freeway is unavoidable. Texas has an abundance of freeways, and every car trip will involve at least one of them.
2. Traffic will never let up. For some reason thousands of cars have a dire need to be traversing Texas at eleven o’clock at night, or at three in the morning, or at one in the afternoon. There is no predictable or avoidable rush hour. Similar to the line in the women’s restroom, traffic in Texas is a Grand Law of the Universe.
3. Frequent lane changes are required. The Texas department of transportation is rather proud of their twelve lane highways. They have laid the roadways out in such a way that all motorists must utilize every lane. Without warning the right lane abruptly becomes the left lane, and the center lane is suddenly labeled exit only. It’s almost as though Escher was the city planner.
The Texan did most of the driving, and I did most of the entertaining the child in the back seat. However, one night an errand involving diapers found me behind the wheel. Driving in Texas is unlike any other place I have ever driven. When I first moved there, I was absolutely convinced that Texas traffic would be the cause of my final demise. I was particularly offended that I had to merge to get both on and off the freeway. My roommates and I referred to mastering navigation on Texas roadways as learning the secrets of the fire swamp. At a fairly recent point in my life I reasonably proficient in the secrets of the fire swamp. However, my current stint in farm town Idaho has quickly eroded my Texas driving skills.
I briefly coveted my infants five point harness and wondered if I should locate a helmet before facing the extreme peril ahead of me. I buckled my seatbelt, turned on the GPS, and set off on my diaper finding quest. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to recall the rules of Texas driving.
1. He who hesitates will never ever ever get on the freeway. Assertiveness is required. Unfortunately, the freeway is unavoidable. Texas has an abundance of freeways, and every car trip will involve at least one of them.
2. Traffic will never let up. For some reason thousands of cars have a dire need to be traversing Texas at eleven o’clock at night, or at three in the morning, or at one in the afternoon. There is no predictable or avoidable rush hour. Similar to the line in the women’s restroom, traffic in Texas is a Grand Law of the Universe.
3. Frequent lane changes are required. The Texas department of transportation is rather proud of their twelve lane highways. They have laid the roadways out in such a way that all motorists must utilize every lane. Without warning the right lane abruptly becomes the left lane, and the center lane is suddenly labeled exit only. It’s almost as though Escher was the city planner.
02 August 2011
Milestones
The little redhead has had a busy six months. Among other things, he has discovered his hands, learned how to spit, rolled over (both directions), been vaccinated against polio, eaten a banana and some squash, and outgrown all of his clothes twice. He is currently learning to sit up on his own, and there is a distinct possibility that he is working on his first tooth.
This week he encountered a major milestone in the life of every redhead: he is experiencing his first sunburn. I would like it noted that all appropriate parental precautions were observed. But sometimes no amount of sunscreen and shade can compensate for fair skinned genetics when at a water park. Our little boy has accepted his lot and is taking it like a champ. In fact I’m not sure he even knows that his face and arms aren’t supposed to sting. He hasn’t fussed or whined about it. All he does is blink a couple of times when we try to wipe the peeling skin off from under his eyes.
This week he encountered a major milestone in the life of every redhead: he is experiencing his first sunburn. I would like it noted that all appropriate parental precautions were observed. But sometimes no amount of sunscreen and shade can compensate for fair skinned genetics when at a water park. Our little boy has accepted his lot and is taking it like a champ. In fact I’m not sure he even knows that his face and arms aren’t supposed to sting. He hasn’t fussed or whined about it. All he does is blink a couple of times when we try to wipe the peeling skin off from under his eyes.
06 July 2011
High School Patriotism
It is the policy of all public schools in the state of Texas to dedicate a portion of every day to the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance followed by the Texas pledge (yes there is such a thing) and a moment of silence in which "students may reflect, pray, meditate, or engage in any other silent activity that does not interfere with or distract others." It is the policy of many teenagers in the state of Texas to refuse to stand during this ritual. I spent the majority of my short teaching career asking defiant students to sit down. But without fail, when it came time for the Pledge of Allegiance, no one wanted to stand.
I can appreciate religious exception. It wouldn't bother me if a Jehovah's Witness didn't want to stand for the Pledge. I don't have the same belief, but I can respect it. I could even understand an atheist refusing to stand because they were uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of deity.
I am aware that the United States is a country based on protest. If my students were refusing to stand as a form of political demonstration I wouldn’t object. In fact, I would be rather excited that they actually had an opinion that was strong enough to compel action (albeit a very passive action). I would be behind them completely. But when a student refuses to stand just because they are too lazy to get out of the chair, I get irritated.
One day a particularly insubordinate student insisted, “Miss, you can’t make me say the Pledge of Allegiance.” I’m relatively certain that she was referring to my actual physical capcity to influence her speech, and not to the legal restrictions imposed upon public educators in a 1943 Supreme Court ruling (West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette). I thought about pointing out that I wasn’t asking her to say the Pledge; I merely wanted her to stand while someone else said it. I briefly considered acknowledging that if she could articulate a reason for declining to stand I would concede the point and allow her to remain seated. I decided that neither approach would do anything for my classroom management. It was time to end the argument. I asserted my redheadedness and declared “I can’t make you say the Pledge of Allegiance, but as your History teacher I can require you to memorize it. The quiz will be on Friday.”
On Friday I asked each student to take out a blank sheet of paper and write down the Pledge. It was a more difficult task for them than I had anticipated. Their responses were both depressing and entertaining. My personal favorite came from a relatively well-behaved student:
“I pledge a legion to the flag of the United State of America
And to the public four witches’ stand
One nation under God
With invisible liberty and justice for all”
I can appreciate religious exception. It wouldn't bother me if a Jehovah's Witness didn't want to stand for the Pledge. I don't have the same belief, but I can respect it. I could even understand an atheist refusing to stand because they were uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of deity.
I am aware that the United States is a country based on protest. If my students were refusing to stand as a form of political demonstration I wouldn’t object. In fact, I would be rather excited that they actually had an opinion that was strong enough to compel action (albeit a very passive action). I would be behind them completely. But when a student refuses to stand just because they are too lazy to get out of the chair, I get irritated.
One day a particularly insubordinate student insisted, “Miss, you can’t make me say the Pledge of Allegiance.” I’m relatively certain that she was referring to my actual physical capcity to influence her speech, and not to the legal restrictions imposed upon public educators in a 1943 Supreme Court ruling (West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette). I thought about pointing out that I wasn’t asking her to say the Pledge; I merely wanted her to stand while someone else said it. I briefly considered acknowledging that if she could articulate a reason for declining to stand I would concede the point and allow her to remain seated. I decided that neither approach would do anything for my classroom management. It was time to end the argument. I asserted my redheadedness and declared “I can’t make you say the Pledge of Allegiance, but as your History teacher I can require you to memorize it. The quiz will be on Friday.”
On Friday I asked each student to take out a blank sheet of paper and write down the Pledge. It was a more difficult task for them than I had anticipated. Their responses were both depressing and entertaining. My personal favorite came from a relatively well-behaved student:
“I pledge a legion to the flag of the United State of America
And to the public four witches’ stand
One nation under God
With invisible liberty and justice for all”
12 June 2011
Self Checkout
Using self checkout is always a mistake. It's one of those innovations that seems like it should be a good idea, but it's not. The line might be shorter, you might only have three items to purchase, you might have incredibly impressive scanning skills, but using the self checkout will never, ever be faster. I know that using self checkout is never a good idea. But every so often I forget. My most recent lapse in judgement involved two gallons of milk.
After scanning the first gallon of milk the ever polite automated voice asks me to "please place [my] item in the bag" at least three times. After scanning my second gallon of milk the voice asks me if I have any coupons. I don't, so I push the no button. The touch screen isn't responsive, so I try again. On the fourth push the voice decides that I don't have any coupons to scan. Then it tells me to please check my cart for any additional items. I don't have a cart. All I have is two gallons of milk, and I managed to carry them all by myself. I try to pay for my milk, but the machine is waiting for me to check my cart. The checker next to me has successfully finished checking out two customers.
The voice asks me if I am finished. I push the finish and pay button. It works on the third try. The voice asks me how I will be paying. I push the cash button. It works on the first try. The checker behind me no longer has any customers in her line. I try to put my money into the machine, but the voice is not interested in accepting my money until she has finished giving me directions. I listen to her tell me to "please place your bills in the bill accepter before placing coins in the coin accepter." Or maybe she asks me to do the coins first. I don't really know because all I have is a five dollar bill, and I don't care if she wants coins or bills first. I just want her to stop talking so that I can pay for my milk and be on my way. Finally the instructions are complete and the little green light comes on indicating the the voice is ready to accept my money. I put my money in, and she spits it back out at me. I turn the bill over and try again. Again she spits it back out at me. I crease, fold, flatten and otherwise try to prepare my five dollars for automated retrieval, but still the voice spits the money back out at me. I sort of feel like I'm trying to pass a counterfeit bill. I have no other method of payment with me because all I wanted to do was run in and buy two gallons of milk while the Texan waited in the car with Little Redhead.
I flag down a real person and explain to her that the voice is not interested in my cash. Real Person tries no fewer than six times to get the voice to accept my money. Finally Real Person goes to her own cash drawer and pulls out a new five dollar bill. The voice accepts this bill and then dispenses the appropriate amount of change. She then politely reminds me to collect my change and my receipt and thanks me for shopping. She invites me to come again. I should know better, but I probably will come again.
After scanning the first gallon of milk the ever polite automated voice asks me to "please place [my] item in the bag" at least three times. After scanning my second gallon of milk the voice asks me if I have any coupons. I don't, so I push the no button. The touch screen isn't responsive, so I try again. On the fourth push the voice decides that I don't have any coupons to scan. Then it tells me to please check my cart for any additional items. I don't have a cart. All I have is two gallons of milk, and I managed to carry them all by myself. I try to pay for my milk, but the machine is waiting for me to check my cart. The checker next to me has successfully finished checking out two customers.
The voice asks me if I am finished. I push the finish and pay button. It works on the third try. The voice asks me how I will be paying. I push the cash button. It works on the first try. The checker behind me no longer has any customers in her line. I try to put my money into the machine, but the voice is not interested in accepting my money until she has finished giving me directions. I listen to her tell me to "please place your bills in the bill accepter before placing coins in the coin accepter." Or maybe she asks me to do the coins first. I don't really know because all I have is a five dollar bill, and I don't care if she wants coins or bills first. I just want her to stop talking so that I can pay for my milk and be on my way. Finally the instructions are complete and the little green light comes on indicating the the voice is ready to accept my money. I put my money in, and she spits it back out at me. I turn the bill over and try again. Again she spits it back out at me. I crease, fold, flatten and otherwise try to prepare my five dollars for automated retrieval, but still the voice spits the money back out at me. I sort of feel like I'm trying to pass a counterfeit bill. I have no other method of payment with me because all I wanted to do was run in and buy two gallons of milk while the Texan waited in the car with Little Redhead.
I flag down a real person and explain to her that the voice is not interested in my cash. Real Person tries no fewer than six times to get the voice to accept my money. Finally Real Person goes to her own cash drawer and pulls out a new five dollar bill. The voice accepts this bill and then dispenses the appropriate amount of change. She then politely reminds me to collect my change and my receipt and thanks me for shopping. She invites me to come again. I should know better, but I probably will come again.
03 May 2011
Signs of Wealth
One day a student declared, "Miss, you dress like you're rich." I looked down at my garage sale/clearance rack ensemble and thought that surely he must be joking. I was fairly confident that although my outfit didn't look as cheap as it really was, and was appropriately professional, it certainly was not as opulent as he was claiming. The only item I paid more than a couple dollars for was my shoes, but they were embarrassingly old and definitely showing signs of wear. And because I am a better teacher when my feet don’t hurt they were painfully practical shoes: certainly nothing trendy or showy or in any way “rich.” Upon further discussion I realized that my necklace - a clearance sale chain with plastic beads covered in peeling silver paint- was apparently the tell-tale sign of affluence in my wardrobe.
While I do not in any way even pretend to understand this student’s thought process, I have decided that the RedHead household is in fact quite wealthy. I have three main reasons for thinking this. None of them is the silver necklace (which I still love and wear frequently despite the flaking paint).
1. We have three staplers. One is probably more than sufficient. I don’t really know how frequently we ever actually staple anything. I’m convinced that all our stapling needs could be adequately handled by borrowing the stapler at the library. Especially since we live in a college town and have access to both the university and the public library. Nevertheless, we own three staplers. One is a really awesome lime green color and can staple through up to thirty sheets of paper at a time. Another is a neat clear plastic device that doesn’t actually use staples, but is used for the same purpose, and so is still accurately categorized as a stapler. The third is a normal stapler- the only remarkable feature being the fact that it is orange. That is one stapler per person in our house. And one of those people doesn’t even know that he has hands yet. Surely he doesn’t need a stapler all to himself.
2. I buy two-ply toilet paper. I am absolutely inflexible in my tissue preferences. I categorically refuse to buy one ply. Sometimes I can justify buying a more expensive product because its higher quality means it will last longer, and therefore, in the long run, ends up being the more frugal option. However, bath tissue becomes trash the instant it is used. So the whole it-will-last-longer theory doesn’t rationalize the higher expense. I continue to buy two ply anyway. I am fully aware that it is a luxury, and I am certain that I can’t live without it.
3. I have two complete sets of 24 colored pencils. And they are Crayola colored pencils. I am not an artist. I thoroughly enjoy coloring, but I don’t really know the difference between sky blue and periwinkle. I have both colors. And I have a backup of each just in case my periwinkle coloring needs exceed the length of an entire pencil and sky blue will simply not suffice.
While I do not in any way even pretend to understand this student’s thought process, I have decided that the RedHead household is in fact quite wealthy. I have three main reasons for thinking this. None of them is the silver necklace (which I still love and wear frequently despite the flaking paint).
1. We have three staplers. One is probably more than sufficient. I don’t really know how frequently we ever actually staple anything. I’m convinced that all our stapling needs could be adequately handled by borrowing the stapler at the library. Especially since we live in a college town and have access to both the university and the public library. Nevertheless, we own three staplers. One is a really awesome lime green color and can staple through up to thirty sheets of paper at a time. Another is a neat clear plastic device that doesn’t actually use staples, but is used for the same purpose, and so is still accurately categorized as a stapler. The third is a normal stapler- the only remarkable feature being the fact that it is orange. That is one stapler per person in our house. And one of those people doesn’t even know that he has hands yet. Surely he doesn’t need a stapler all to himself.
2. I buy two-ply toilet paper. I am absolutely inflexible in my tissue preferences. I categorically refuse to buy one ply. Sometimes I can justify buying a more expensive product because its higher quality means it will last longer, and therefore, in the long run, ends up being the more frugal option. However, bath tissue becomes trash the instant it is used. So the whole it-will-last-longer theory doesn’t rationalize the higher expense. I continue to buy two ply anyway. I am fully aware that it is a luxury, and I am certain that I can’t live without it.
3. I have two complete sets of 24 colored pencils. And they are Crayola colored pencils. I am not an artist. I thoroughly enjoy coloring, but I don’t really know the difference between sky blue and periwinkle. I have both colors. And I have a backup of each just in case my periwinkle coloring needs exceed the length of an entire pencil and sky blue will simply not suffice.
19 April 2011
Federalism
Slightly more than two centuries ago some of the most gifted minds on the continent decided that confederation wasn’t really working out all that well, so they decided to take a crack at federalism instead. Really it was a brilliant way to promote unity among the states while preserving liberty and preventing tyranny. The basic idea of federalism was that sovereignty would be shared between the state governments and the national government. The national government has the authority to do things like regulate interstate commerce and the state governments get to do things like establish a public education system. It’s a great idea, and one of those things that makes you proud to be an American. But sometimes federalism can be a real headache.
For example, I did my EMT training and certification in Colorado. I lived in Utah when the Winter Olympics were held in Salt Lake City. I thought it would be fun to be a medical volunteer for the Olympics, so I went to apply. I was told not to bother. Public safety falls in the realm of state sovereignty, so my EMT certification was not valid in Utah. I guess CPR might change when crossing state borders. Apparently only those who were trained and certified in Utah were properly qualified to medically assist the international community at the Olympics in 2002.
When we made plans to move to Idaho, I needed to get an Idaho teaching certificate in order to apply for jobs. I called the state board of education to find out what I needed to do. The list seemed pretty straight forward: fill out an application, send a copy of my Texas certification, and pay the appropriate fees. The last step was to be fingerprinted for a background check. Texas does background checks on teachers quite frequently, so I wondered if the information could be shared without having to duplicate the process. When I mentioned that Texas had a recent background check already on file I was told, “That doesn’t matter. We need your Idaho fingerprints.” Really. Idaho fingerprints. I’m pretty sure my fingerprints are not dependent on my location. In fact I think that last year when we went to London and Paris my fingerprints were exactly the same as they have been in Colorado, Utah, and Texas (each states where I have been fingerprinted for various reasons).
The largest federalism headache by far started with the Texas highway patrol. Shortly after moving to Texas I was pulled over for speeding. I have a theory about speeding tickets: If you’re going too fast to notice the cop and slow down, you’re going too fast to be safe so you deserve the ticket. I didn’t notice the cop in time to slow down, and although I was annoyed, I was prepared to accept the speeding ticket that was coming. But he didn’t just give me a speeding ticket. He looked at my Colorado driver’s license and asked me how long I had been in Texas. I told him when I moved, and he informed me that in Texas you have thirty days to change your license. Since I had passed the thirty day window he issued me a ticket for not having a valid Texas license. The fact that I had a valid Colorado license was irrelevant. I was particularly incensed because I had only missed the thirty day deadline by two days.
A few days later I made the trip to the department of transportation to get the appropriate license. I was expecting to walk in with my Colorado license, spend an inordinate amount of time waiting in line, perhaps take a test, and walk out with a Texas license. I look back and laugh at how naïve I was. I was prepared to handle the standard inconveniences of federalism, but I was completely blindsided by the utter ridiculousness of Texas Nationalism. After waiting for three hours in line it was finally my turn to approach the desk. I told the worker that I needed a Texas driver’s license. She asked to see a Texas vehicle registration. At the time I was student teaching, and was driving a car that belonged to my parents. I told her that I didn’t own a vehicle. She insisted that she must see a Texas registration in order to issue a Texas driver’s license. After a rather lengthy conversation where she insisted that everyone that has ever gotten a driver’s license in Texas has also had a car registered in Texas, I asked to speak to her manager. He conceded the point, but asked to see my social security card. I didn’t have my social security card with me, so I left without a Texas license.
The following week I returned with my social security card in hand, certain that this time I would be able to obtain a Texas driver’s license. After waiting only an hour and a half, I approached the desk. The employee asked to see three forms of ID. I showed her my Colorado license and social security card, and asked her what other forms of ID could count for the third. She said, “Well, I guess your Colorado license can count as one ID.” I repeated my question and she told me that I needed to show her a passport or birth certificate. So once again I left without a Texas license.
On my third trip I arrived with all the appropriate documentation and waited in line for two hours. When I approached the desk I was greeted by an irate man who rather unpleasantly asked me why I was bothering him. I told him that I had recently moved and needed to obtain a Texas driver’s license. He rolled his eyes at me and asked to see my current license. I handed him my Colorado license which he promptly cut up. Then he took my picture, wrote down my address, and told me my new license would arrive in the mail within the month. I asked him what I should do until it came. He pulled a form out of his drawer, slammed it on the desk, and hurriedly scribbled in the information that indicated that I had applied for a Texas driver’s license, and that its arrival was pending. Then he sent me on my way without asking to see any further identification. I left a third time without a Texas license. At this point I decided that the state of Texas did not have any standard requirements for receiving a driver’s license. Instead, all employees of the Department of Transportation hold the authority to make up whatever provisions they deem necessary to ensure that all drivers in Texas have been appropriately harassed before being allowed to navigate the horrendous traffic for which they are famous.
For example, I did my EMT training and certification in Colorado. I lived in Utah when the Winter Olympics were held in Salt Lake City. I thought it would be fun to be a medical volunteer for the Olympics, so I went to apply. I was told not to bother. Public safety falls in the realm of state sovereignty, so my EMT certification was not valid in Utah. I guess CPR might change when crossing state borders. Apparently only those who were trained and certified in Utah were properly qualified to medically assist the international community at the Olympics in 2002.
When we made plans to move to Idaho, I needed to get an Idaho teaching certificate in order to apply for jobs. I called the state board of education to find out what I needed to do. The list seemed pretty straight forward: fill out an application, send a copy of my Texas certification, and pay the appropriate fees. The last step was to be fingerprinted for a background check. Texas does background checks on teachers quite frequently, so I wondered if the information could be shared without having to duplicate the process. When I mentioned that Texas had a recent background check already on file I was told, “That doesn’t matter. We need your Idaho fingerprints.” Really. Idaho fingerprints. I’m pretty sure my fingerprints are not dependent on my location. In fact I think that last year when we went to London and Paris my fingerprints were exactly the same as they have been in Colorado, Utah, and Texas (each states where I have been fingerprinted for various reasons).
The largest federalism headache by far started with the Texas highway patrol. Shortly after moving to Texas I was pulled over for speeding. I have a theory about speeding tickets: If you’re going too fast to notice the cop and slow down, you’re going too fast to be safe so you deserve the ticket. I didn’t notice the cop in time to slow down, and although I was annoyed, I was prepared to accept the speeding ticket that was coming. But he didn’t just give me a speeding ticket. He looked at my Colorado driver’s license and asked me how long I had been in Texas. I told him when I moved, and he informed me that in Texas you have thirty days to change your license. Since I had passed the thirty day window he issued me a ticket for not having a valid Texas license. The fact that I had a valid Colorado license was irrelevant. I was particularly incensed because I had only missed the thirty day deadline by two days.
A few days later I made the trip to the department of transportation to get the appropriate license. I was expecting to walk in with my Colorado license, spend an inordinate amount of time waiting in line, perhaps take a test, and walk out with a Texas license. I look back and laugh at how naïve I was. I was prepared to handle the standard inconveniences of federalism, but I was completely blindsided by the utter ridiculousness of Texas Nationalism. After waiting for three hours in line it was finally my turn to approach the desk. I told the worker that I needed a Texas driver’s license. She asked to see a Texas vehicle registration. At the time I was student teaching, and was driving a car that belonged to my parents. I told her that I didn’t own a vehicle. She insisted that she must see a Texas registration in order to issue a Texas driver’s license. After a rather lengthy conversation where she insisted that everyone that has ever gotten a driver’s license in Texas has also had a car registered in Texas, I asked to speak to her manager. He conceded the point, but asked to see my social security card. I didn’t have my social security card with me, so I left without a Texas license.
The following week I returned with my social security card in hand, certain that this time I would be able to obtain a Texas driver’s license. After waiting only an hour and a half, I approached the desk. The employee asked to see three forms of ID. I showed her my Colorado license and social security card, and asked her what other forms of ID could count for the third. She said, “Well, I guess your Colorado license can count as one ID.” I repeated my question and she told me that I needed to show her a passport or birth certificate. So once again I left without a Texas license.
On my third trip I arrived with all the appropriate documentation and waited in line for two hours. When I approached the desk I was greeted by an irate man who rather unpleasantly asked me why I was bothering him. I told him that I had recently moved and needed to obtain a Texas driver’s license. He rolled his eyes at me and asked to see my current license. I handed him my Colorado license which he promptly cut up. Then he took my picture, wrote down my address, and told me my new license would arrive in the mail within the month. I asked him what I should do until it came. He pulled a form out of his drawer, slammed it on the desk, and hurriedly scribbled in the information that indicated that I had applied for a Texas driver’s license, and that its arrival was pending. Then he sent me on my way without asking to see any further identification. I left a third time without a Texas license. At this point I decided that the state of Texas did not have any standard requirements for receiving a driver’s license. Instead, all employees of the Department of Transportation hold the authority to make up whatever provisions they deem necessary to ensure that all drivers in Texas have been appropriately harassed before being allowed to navigate the horrendous traffic for which they are famous.
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